by T. I. Lowe
The ride home was quiet until they neared the beach. Opal couldn’t tamp down her curiosity any longer and quipped, “You majored in astrology? I didn’t realize that was a thing.”
Lincoln chuckled and shook his head. “No.”
Confused, she looked over and saw the smirk etched along his handsome face. The dashboard lights glanced off the mischievous twinkling in his eyes. “Why would you lie like that?”
“Your mother was being a little too nosy. That’s what she gets.”
Opal tsked. “That wasn’t nice.” She tried to give him a stern look when he glanced over, but it floundered when he grinned wide, looking right proud of himself. And too handsome for his own good.
The grin dropped from his face as suddenly as it had appeared. Clearing his throat, Lincoln asked, “Opal, may I ask you a question?”
Her own smile fell away when she caught the sincerity in his voice. “Sure,” she answered with caution.
Lincoln cut his eyes in her direction before returning his attention to the road. “What does one do with a degree in astrology?” he deadpanned, cracking her up.
She reached over and playfully popped him in the arm. “My house is two more up on the right, smart-aleck.” She giggled. “Seriously, what did you earn a degree in? Moodiness? Old geezer antics? Stubbornness?”
“If you must know, I have a master’s in architectural engineering.”
“For real?”
He turned in and parked beside her beach house. “For real.”
“Well, that makes sense. You were very precise on the floor plans today. Man . . . I think I should probably give you a substantial raise.”
He chuckled. “No need. I’m good there. Plenty of savings and good investments.” He opened his door, stepped out, and rounded to her door, opening it like a true Southern gentleman. “Thank you for supper tonight.”
Opal hopped down. “I feel like I owe you an apology for that.”
“No, you don’t. Your parents were just being good parents. And that meal was worth the interrogation. You probably need to let them know we are only working together. I think your mom is probably scared to death I’m gonna pull you into the hippie side of life and teach you how to read the stars.” He quietly chuckled.
“You’re not my friend?” Opal’s cheeks heated, not understanding why he fought to keep her at a distance.
Lincoln shrugged one of his big shoulders. “I suppose we could try.”
Opal rummaged around in her bag until her fingers landed on the smooth surface of a seashell. She pulled it out and pressed it into the palm of his hand.
He studied the shell underneath the streetlamp before glancing down at her. “What’s the wish this time?”
“That we succeed in our friendship.” She left him with the shell and started toward the house. “Good night, friend.”
Lincoln murmured something behind her, but she didn’t quite catch it. The Jeep didn’t pull away until she’d made it inside and had flicked on a light. Sighing, she peeped out the window and watched the taillights flash once before turning onto the road. The man was undoubtedly the most complicated friend she’d ever had.
7
The woman was nothing but complicated, and Lincoln wasn’t so sure how much more he could put up with. They spent the better part of the following week in the workroom while movers set up the store according to his specific directions. Each day he would come in, and each day she had a job set up for them to tackle.
Today they sat across the worktable from each other, sanding wood spindles.
“Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re up to.” His words came out just shy of a growl, sending her head to pop up.
“What are you grumbling about now?” Opal rolled her eyes at him and went back to brushing the sheet of sandpaper against the old milk paint.
“Each day we’re either back here in this room working on a project or doing the same in the front yard. Sitting. All we do is sit.” He sanded a stubborn spot before dropping the finished spindle in the bin beside the table. It was like those danged things were multiplying right before his eyes.
“Stand on your head and do the work for all I care.” Opal delivered the jab sweetly as always, and it made his skin itch.
He scratched his cheek before picking up another spindle. “I don’t like you.”
“So you keep saying.” She eyed the spindle in her grasp, tilting her head one way and then the other. “For someone who doesn’t like me, you sure do like to watch me.”
His eyes skittered back down to the sandpaper clutched in his fist, hating that she never bit her tongue when an opportunity to call him out on something presented itself. “Train wrecks are always hard to look away from,” Lincoln lied right through his gritted teeth.
Truth be told, he couldn’t help himself. When Opal was in the same space as he was, his eyes instantly gravitated to her. Sure, she was a unique beauty, but it was also the sweet spirit radiating from her in so many ways. Her knowing smile that tended to hitch more on the left. The teasing twinkle in her green eyes. The fluttering of her long eyelashes when she was deep in thought . . .
“You’re staring again.” Opal hummed, her eyes twinkling. Just as that heart-shaped mouth of hers popped open to deliver more tease, the bell over the door chimed. “Saved by the bell.” She hopped up and skipped out of the room, leaving him still itchy and irritated.
Moments later, the back door opened and Josie carried a gigantic canvas inside. When she realized she wasn’t alone, her feet nearly cleared the floor.
“Oh!” Josie slid the canvas behind her back, not hiding it in the least. “I, uh . . . I didn’t think anyone was back here.”
“Clearly.” Stifling a grunt, Lincoln stood and motioned for the canvas. “I already saw it, so you might as well let me see it.”
Josie’s bright-blue eyes widened. “Oh . . . I . . . uh . . . It’s actually for Opal. I’ll just come back later . . .” She took a step backward, but he reached a long arm out and swiped the painting. “Hey!”
Lincoln turned his back to her protests and checked out the painting, finding it quite fitting. A barefooted redhead sat on a tall stack of furniture that looked like it was teetering on the edge of calamity. She wore a royal-blue ball gown gathered around her knees and she was laughing, her head tipped back.
An eyebrow shot up as he glanced over his shoulder at Josie. Her face was high in color. “You painted this?”
“Y-yes . . . ,” she stuttered, studying her flip-flops.
“Wow.” Lincoln turned around and narrowed his eyes. “Why on earth are you working at a diner when clearly you should be creating art like this full-time?” He held the painting a little higher.
“Umm . . .” Josie cleared her throat and toyed with a thin leather band wrapped around her wrist. While she fiddled with it, Lincoln took a moment to give her a thorough once-over, thinking she looked like she should be on a surfboard out in California, with her white-blonde hair and eyebrows, or rubbing elbows with other artists at an art gallery with his buddy August Bradford. Even in the understated outfit of baggy jean shorts and a tank top, she was obviously meant for more than the small diner she was hiding out in. Whoever this Josie Slater was, she didn’t have him fooled.
“It’s not a choice at the moment,” Josie finally whispered.
Lincoln didn’t need to know the details behind her statement. He could easily recognize a fellow victim of circumstance, so he chose to drop it and redirected his focus to the beautiful painting. A smile pulled at his lips before he could stop it. “You captured our pixie in paint.” He looked up and found her eyeing him instead of the canvas. “What?”
Just as Opal entered the room, Josie stepped behind her and peeked over the top of Opal’s curly red hair, pretending to tremble in fright. “You’re smiling. It’s scaring me.”
Lincoln scowled. “You’re not funny.” Even though he thought it was pretty funny the timid blonde actually knew how to joke aro
und. “I know how to smile. Just need a decent reason.”
“Aww! And Josie’s painting of me did that for you. What an honor.” Opal grinned and he wasn’t sure if she was being sincere or teasing. That little condescending quirk of hers made his eye twitch.
“Where should we hang it?” Opal asked Lincoln, always acting like his opinion meant more than anything in the world.
He glanced around the workroom. “If you’re going to hide us back here most of the time, you might as well give us something to look at.” He pointed to the bare wall beside the back door.
“That’s a great idea.” Opal propped the canvas that was almost as tall as her against the wall and took a few steps back to admire it. “Will you hang it for me?”
“Sure.” Lincoln strode over to the exact drawer that housed the needed supplies and tools. He’d helped organize the entire place, so he knew it like the back of his hand by now.
“Are you ready to reopen the doors Friday?” Josie asked.
“Yep. Everything is set,” Opal commented.
Lincoln worked on hammering a nail above his head while the women chatted.
“That’s great news, Opal.” Josie sounded genuinely thrilled for her friend, and that made Lincoln soften to her a little more.
“I’d love for you to create a few pieces to put on display in the storefront,” Opal said in that sugar-sweet coercing tone.
“I’m not sure I’ll have time . . . ,” Josie mumbled.
Lincoln hung the canvas and adjusted it a few times before letting go and deciding to get on the meddling bandwagon. “If this is the quality of your work, you should be in galleries all around the world. That alcove wall up front needs something spectacular like this.” Lincoln looked over at the blushing blonde and nodded his head toward her painting. “Seriously, Josie.”
The tall woman fidgeted, seemingly uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “Thank you,” Josie mumbled. “We’ll see.”
Lincoln had heard that phrase enough growing up to know it meant a church no and wouldn’t be happening. Again, he figured it was best to drop it. He put the supplies away and went ahead and put some of Opal’s away as well. He’d been bound and determined to get her into an organizing routine, but so far she was looking like a lost cause.
“Okay. So you two have been angels in the last few weeks, helping me get my mess back together, so as a thank-you, I’m cooking y’all supper tomorrow night at my place.” Opal did her little happy clap and bounced in place. Lincoln found her quirks silly a few weeks ago, but they had somehow grown on him, even if she still annoyed the daylights out of him.
“Sounds good to me,” Lincoln was quick to say. If she cooked anywhere close as good as her mom, he was in for a treat. His mouth watered just thinking about it.
“You’ve been working so hard, Opal. Why don’t we just go out to eat and celebrate,” Josie offered, nodding her head exuberantly beside him.
“No, no, no. You know how much I love to cook.” Opal flicked a wrist in the air, and Lincoln was glad she was dismissing the idea of going out to eat. He was burned out on sandwiches and was hankering for some home cooking.
“And I love to eat. A lot.” Lincoln caught the grimace on Josie’s face before she smoothed it away. “What?”
“Nothing,” Josie stuttered out. “I just don’t want to put Opal out, and you shouldn’t either. Why don’t we have Daddy put together a low-country boil at his place.” She directed this to Lincoln with her eyes rounded and began nodding her head like a maniac.
“I’m game for the low-country boil. No need in giving yourself whiplash to convince me.” Lincoln shook his head and stifled an eye roll.
“Enough now. I’m cooking for y’all. Be at my house around six. I’m going to lock up.” Opal walked off.
Josie groaned once she was out of earshot.
“What was that all about?” Lincoln asked, feeling like he was missing something.
“Nothing. Just hope you bring your appetite,” Josie muttered while trailing Opal.
Lincoln arrived at Opal’s place right at six the next day with his stomach growling. He’d forgone snacking that afternoon in preparation. The tinkling melody of wind chimes dancing in the breeze greeted him as he stepped out of his vehicle. He shook his head, thinking only Opal would want to add to the natural song of the ocean. He’d been to her house a few times but the sight never ceased to catch him off guard. The faded-orange hue of the clapboard siding and the robin’s egg blue on the shutters reminded him of Easter.
“Only Opal,” he muttered while taking in the beach house. He wouldn’t admit it out loud to her, but it was cozy and welcoming. Much in the same manner as its owner. He read the plaque on the front porch railing, Beach Haven, and thought the name fit it to a T. The owners of his cottage had named it Seashore Wishes and he was starting to believe it was a sign.
He heard laughter on the back deck, so he headed that way and found Opal and Josie setting dishes on a patio table underneath a bright floral umbrella. Temperatures were in the upper sixties with just a subtle breeze, so dining outside sounded appealing. His back stiffened when his eyes landed on the she-devil they called Sophia Grace as she placed napkins under each plate. He’d been able to dodge most of her visits, but seemed his luck had run out.
Opal tucked one of those errant curls with the faded ends behind her ear and looked over as she picked up a glass pitcher filled with what appeared to be lemonade. Her green eyes lit up when they landed on him. “Linc! You made it!” she said, sounding like there was some doubt that he would.
“Of course I made it. I’m hungry.” He took his time maneuvering the steps with his cane, trying to come to terms with depending on the annoying stick.
“Look who came into town to surprise me for the reopening!”
Lincoln regarded the brunette, who was wearing that sour look she wore the last time he saw her, and didn’t see where she warranted Opal’s enthusiasm. Against his better judgment, he took the only vacant seat next to Sophia and noticed she smelled like his favorite Italian restaurant back home. Garlic and herbs wafted around on a briny breeze, setting his mouth to watering. “We eating lasagna or spaghetti?” His question made Sophia’s face bloom in shades of red.
“No, what makes you think that?” Opal asked while filling glasses with lemonade.
Lincoln leaned over to Sophia and sniffed, but before he commented, a foot made sharp contact with his good shin under the table. He glared at Sophia and she glared back. “No reason,” he mumbled while leaning down to rub the sting away.
“I’ll be right back.” Opal flitted through the open sliding-glass doors, humming all the way.
“What’s up with you? And where’s the pizza?” Lincoln asked Sophia.
Sophia clucked her tongue, having the audacity to act perturbed with her nose in the air. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She quickly grabbed up her glass of lemonade and downed half of it. Josie sat on the other side of her and looked just as guilty for some reason.
Opal was back in a flash with a platter of golden-brown biscuits. “It’s a new recipe I found. I tweaked it a bit though.” She placed them in the middle of the table and took a seat.
“Where’s the rest of the meal?” Lincoln asked, wondering where the meat and sides were.
“Oh, that’s the neat part. The biscuits are stuffed, so they are an entire meal in themselves.”
Lincoln surveyed the platter, knowing his appetite was bigger than what it held. “I hope you have more than that.”
Sophia coughed and Josie choked on the lemonade she was guzzling. “No worries, Lincoln. Eat all you want.” Sophia flicked a manicured hand in the direction of the platter and grinned way too wide.
Opal began loading everyone’s plate with two biscuits.
“I think Lincoln should try it first, being as he’s kinda the guest of honor,” Sophia commented, ignoring her plate.
“I’m hardly a guest of honor, but I’d be glad to
test this biscuit out first.” He picked up the flaky bread and took a big bite and began chewing with things crunching between his teeth.
Lincoln was raised on scratch-made biscuits formed from lard and buttermilk. The golden bundle of deception he held was nothing like those delicious dreams. No. Whatever that thing pinched between his thumb and forefinger was, heavenly it was not. With each chew the fishy travesty seemed to grow in his mouth. Even though his eyes began to water, he was able to see everyone at the table watching him. Josie and Sophia looked as miserable as he was, their faces puckered. Blinking the tears away, he noticed Opal was looking on expectantly. Lincoln had no idea what she was hoping for, but he knew for certain that he was about to let the woman down.
He took his napkin and tucked it around his mouth and spit the awful-tasting biscuit into it, using a clean section to wipe his tongue. “I think they went bad somehow.” He gagged. “What’d you put in them?”
Opal took a tentative bite. “I took the idea of salmon cakes and stuffed it inside a biscuit.” She inspected the inside of the pastry while chewing. “They taste fine to me.”
Lincoln downed a long swig of his lemonade. “Why’d it crunch?”
“Oh, I like to use the cans of salmon with the fish bones. It’s added calcium and texture.”
Lincoln rubbed his gut and studied the other two women suspiciously. “Ain’t you two gonna at least try it?”
“Opal, I’m sorry, honey. But Ty has this event coming up and I have to squeeze into a cocktail dress, so I’m off carbs.” Sophia appeared completely disheartened, but Lincoln wasn’t fooled by her act. He’d had breakfast at Driftwood Diner that morning, where he watched Sophia and her baby boy share a fat stack of French toast, which was nothing but carbohydrates.
“And I’m trying to be supportive and not eating carbs in front of her.” Josie scrunched her face and shrugged her shoulders.